Golden ale frothed and foamed as it was poured from the barrel, and the sound was mouth watering. But Korbin only filled up halfway, and the old hunter across the table stared into the mug in disbelief.
"This it? This all I'm gettin?"
"That's all anyone's getting," Korbin cut back curtly. "Unless you wanna go without before the week is over, you'll take what I give and you'll be fucking grateful."
The man's face reddened ominously, but his companions took him by the arms and dragged him off. Their mugs were just as lacking in content; somehow it did not quite penetrate into their thick heads that there might be a shortage of booze.
Gods knew Korbin was out of patience. The room was crowded, over hot from blazing fires and too many people, and his own share of the drink was gone a long time ago, to little effect. His patience was fraying at the edges, effectively a wolf trapped in a cage - even more so now that he was stuck behind this 'bar' - and not for the first time did he consider just giving up the whole venture.
But he couldn't. Not after what he'd said to Chulane about running away. His temper had been foul ever since their argument, cut by his own words and the way the other man had just caved under pressure. Would he really quit the council? If he did, would it be Korbin's fault? Did he care? Enough to stew over it, apparently.
In the end, what bothered him most was the sheer weakness of the man's will. For a half-grown brat (yes, he was talking about himself) to be able to beat him down to that extent was unbelievable, and it somehow left Korbin feeling betrayed. He'd thought Chulane was stronger than that. More determined. Gods, it was disappointing.
Not so quietly seething, the raven gritted his teeth against the urge to snarl at anyone who came close, kept pouring drinks and remained largely quiet. Few seemed inclined to strike up conversation, and it was just as disappointing when none persisted.
What he wouldn't do for someone to start a fight. Blowing off steam would be glorious right about now.
"This it? This all I'm gettin?"
"That's all anyone's getting," Korbin cut back curtly. "Unless you wanna go without before the week is over, you'll take what I give and you'll be fucking grateful."
The man's face reddened ominously, but his companions took him by the arms and dragged him off. Their mugs were just as lacking in content; somehow it did not quite penetrate into their thick heads that there might be a shortage of booze.
Gods knew Korbin was out of patience. The room was crowded, over hot from blazing fires and too many people, and his own share of the drink was gone a long time ago, to little effect. His patience was fraying at the edges, effectively a wolf trapped in a cage - even more so now that he was stuck behind this 'bar' - and not for the first time did he consider just giving up the whole venture.
But he couldn't. Not after what he'd said to Chulane about running away. His temper had been foul ever since their argument, cut by his own words and the way the other man had just caved under pressure. Would he really quit the council? If he did, would it be Korbin's fault? Did he care? Enough to stew over it, apparently.
In the end, what bothered him most was the sheer weakness of the man's will. For a half-grown brat (yes, he was talking about himself) to be able to beat him down to that extent was unbelievable, and it somehow left Korbin feeling betrayed. He'd thought Chulane was stronger than that. More determined. Gods, it was disappointing.
Not so quietly seething, the raven gritted his teeth against the urge to snarl at anyone who came close, kept pouring drinks and remained largely quiet. Few seemed inclined to strike up conversation, and it was just as disappointing when none persisted.
What he wouldn't do for someone to start a fight. Blowing off steam would be glorious right about now.
In loving memory of when I gave a shit
KORBIN
HALE
HALE
